


Hurricane

by lilliasan



Category: Killing Stalking, 킬링 스토킹 | Killing Stalking (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, I uh lost a bet so uh, Sangwoo is a flick flack patty wack but let’s give this dumbass some emotions as an AU I guess, first person POV, god I regret everything please forgive me father, now I’m making a fic of a guy I absolutely dislike, oof yikes save me I’m sinning, this is prolly my first First Person POV but yikes let’s give it a go, this wasn’t so bad to make it was kinda fun um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliasan/pseuds/lilliasan
Summary: There’s a storm raging inside us with many unsanswered questions.





	Hurricane

        I let my thoughts be swayed away by the tapping of the pouring rain against the glass windows of my bedroom. Today felt odd. Cold. Empty. I couldn’t explain it correctly.  
        This entire summer vacation had been absolute boring. Locking myself in my room majority of the day not stepping a single foot outside the house unless it was of importance from getting groceries or family related business. My friends and I would make occasional plans here and there but I rarely gave the option to go out and spend some decent time with them. I don’t consider them as good friends who are close enough to be considered as a family or such. Just another person to pass the time with.  
        But today just felt so...dark? Something just feels so off tonight. I checked my phone a couple of times hoping for a message from Sangwoo. I haven’t seen him in weeks especially not talking over the phone or through messages. I didn’t want to bother him considering he’s very popular hanging with his own friends and has a job to work at a bar.  
        _Oh Sangwoo_ , I repeated in my head. I leaned against the wall of my room while sitting up on my bed and staring out the window. This uncontrollable, pang in my chest started to eat at me these past couple of weeks. I usually don’t mind being left on read during a silly message I send. But our conversations started to become less and less and undoubtably I, too, started to feel like that as a person. My insecurities shooting off the meters, my self confidence becoming the size of an atom. This very feeling made me want to gag—to puke, even.  
        I never really gave a damn of how he felt towards me, of how he saw me, of how he considered me. But when we first spoke before spring came, our conversations were endless. Our smiles and laughs for one another, our physical touches just for each other. But as we continued on and our words became short, this feeling just won’t ever clear.  
        I call him my friend, someone I can actually count on. Someone I can be silly around with. Sometimes I can be myself around with him and he wouldn’t judge for a second. Was he much more than that? Did he feel more for me? Of what brought up this thinking, I don’t know but these questions never wavered; they never stopped stabbing at me.  
        Yet the sudden pounding on the door outside made me jump and scramble away from my undying thoughts. I quickly walked out my bedroom into the living room to look outside the window as to who was knocking at this hour and weather which was raining around eight at night. I couldn’t see clearly from the window covered in so many droplets on water.  
        I unlocked the door and froze to see Sangwoo standing there soaked in his black, long sleeved turtle neck and tan jeans. He looked dreadful. His eye bags gave enough of a message of how tired he was of this world and its bullshit. “Sangwoo?” I called out as he took a step forward. I could smell whiskey seeping off his breath and a strange look casted upon his eyes. Obviously he was indeed drinking and prolly drunk, but also prolly tipsy.  
        Not only did his eyes look tired but as though he had been crying? But over what exactly? “Are you okay? What’s—“  
        Again, as questions from earlier started to resurface in my head I finally found the answers when his arm engulfed me into him, his large hand softly cupping my cheek, and placed a chaste kiss onto my lips pouring all of his emotions into my own.  Suddenly, it stopped feeling so cold. 


End file.
